An Eighth Shot of Espresso: Coffee and Creativity on Mum's Third Shift

Leaves droop and fall  slowly one by one  the venerable old tree still stands majestic  as it has always been the trunk still proud its root buried deeply into the crumbly black soil a solid sentinel  still watches over us all its branches touch  the cloudless sky  but now they are bare it shivers in the cold because it has lost its yearly armor.

mournful for what  should have been  instead of what is  that is why  I look ever forward  because if I look back  all the regret  would swallow me up my mind trapped in a muddy mire of pain and sadness of old open wounds  and I can't change  what happened in the past  but I can still improve  my lot for the future

There is no reprieve  in the trials of motherhood  it is a life sentence  one that can be  voluntarily taken  or one that can be  dictated by fate  either way it is a journey  a test of the spirit not an easy path nor a straight one so many crossroads so many sleepless nights life will never be the same it will leave its mark upon your heart and soul whether or not you acknowledge it so.

They told us  to renounce everything  that would  imperil our  mortal souls.  They watched us our every move and behavior corrected our words to make sure our lives were clean They never promised us that our passage  into Heaven at the end of the day  was one hundred percent  guaranteed.

Turn a fresh page  unlined and blank  dip the pen  into the inkwell  the scratch of the nib  reflects the shimmer  of the dancing flame  as you write  by the candlelight the years pass the words fade but your ideas last for eternity

you can be in a crowd  and yet feel lonesome  all the conversations  swirling around you  but you take part in none  and it is as if they do not see  that you are standing there and they speak as if you aren't even present  you are invisible to them perhaps you are truly a ghost who walks among them all but unlike a disembodied spirit you still feel the sting of isolation